


The Dying of the Light

by artaline



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Aaravos POV, Backstory, F/M, M/M, aaravos is excited to see viren, also has problem connecting to elves cause they see him as rare, divination fueling relationships, rather than a person, spoilers s02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artaline/pseuds/artaline
Summary: He gets his very first real vision at ten. It’s fast and sudden and feels like falling, but he never hits the ground. The human in front of him is screaming wordlessly, his face a wild pale mask, eyes black and bottomless like a starless night.





	The Dying of the Light

_"Star magic is little understood. It draws on the vast and timeless power of the cosmos, and involves divination, cosmic vision, and seeing into the “beyond.” Creatures connected to the Stars are extremely uncommon and rarely seen"._  
  


He doesn’t remember when does he learn that he’s a startouch elf, but he only understands what that means at six, when his mother is talking to the royal messengers. He doesn’t like the way they talk about him, as if he isn’t there. But then again adults often seem to assume he doesn’t understand them. He usually does.

He learns that startouch elves like himself are very precious and rare, and that apparently the last one died over a hundred of years before he was born. That makes him feel very very lonely. Later, when the messengers are gone, mother gives him a big tight hug.

A week later they leave the Moon Nexus to its new Guardian. He knows that Mother is not happy, but the Dragon King wants a startouch elf in his court, and so they go.

His visions don’t come for years, but despite his uselessness the King doesn’t send them back. He misses the lake, and the beautiful figures dancing in the moonlight from behind the veil.

He learns what he can of his kind, from the library. His memory is good, and he quickly reads and memorises every piece of knowledge he can find. It’s not much, many scrolls come in languages he doesn’t understand, and so he ends up learning the languages too.

The stories of others - startouch elves like himself - fill his head and make him long to know them. These distant figures become his close friends, the peers he never knows. The stories say that the visions will bring him the knowledge of the future, let him see the allies, friends and lovers, those who will play an important role in his future. That’s when he finally understands why does the Dragon King want him in his court.

He daydreams about another startouch elf being born, about seeing them in his vision, holding and greeting them, being their very best friend, and making sure they never have to be lonely.

He gets his very first real vision at ten. It’s fast and sudden and feels like falling, but he never hits the ground. The human in front of him is screaming wordlessly, his face a wild pale mask, eyes black and bottomless like a starless night. The man’s eyes are filled with loathing, and the vision scares him. He wakes breathing hard and fast, grasping at his blanket with a death grip.

Mother assures him that there are no humans with ink black eyes, and that it was likely just a dream. He wants to believe it, but it’s hard not to recognize the pull of your own arcanum.

He gets many more visions over the years. Some of them are simple visions of the coming dinner, and some are distant memories of the people and places, the books he would read and conversations he would hold.

The man from the vision doesn’t come back. But there are others, young and old, all performing the feats of magic with black inky eyes. He doesn’t tell about it to Mother, nor anyone else. Everyone knows that humans can’t do magic after all.

At sixteen he gets a permission to travel, to learn about the magic and life all over Xadia. Mother is worried, but he promises to send her letters at least once a week and tell her the stories of his travel. For the first month he ends up sending them every two days and soon runs out of parchment. The world is rich and amazing, and he wants to take it all in and learn it with his entire being. And he does.

The moon, the primal of his Mother comes first to him, others take their time, but now he seeks out all the different kind of mages, and they, awed by his skill, eagerly provide their help.

The first time he sees her he’s seventeen, and she’s holding his hand, as her soft ember eyes turn to ink as she leans in close and kisses him. It’s then he learns that he is not afraid of the black anymore.

The first time he meets her, he’s twenty two, and initially he almost doesn’t recognize her under the layers of dirt and bruises covering her pale soft skin. She’s older than him by almost a decade, but nigh a foot shorter, and he lifts her with ease and carries her to his camp.

She’s wary of him. With a sinking heart he realizes that whoever hurt her must have been an elf. For the first time knowing something in advance comes as a burden. He longs to know her, but she’s cold and distant, and his words get stuck in his throat. Eventually they do talk, and it turns out that they actually can’t stop talking, and laughing and sharing every little thing they know with each other.

She is the sharpest and cleverest person he ever met, and he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t need another startouch elf to not feel lonely.

They travel together, and he learns to recognize that look she gives him when he casts spells, the one of pained curiosity, and his heart rebels at the idea that someone so brilliant would be invisible to the primals.

And so they create it together, the flame spell, the very simple and basic incantation mimicking the primal at the base of what everyone later starts calling the dark magic.

He’s pretty sure neither of them knew what they were doing, or what they even tried to do, and even in hindsight he can’t believe that actually worked. But when sees her eyes turn inky black, he cries at how beautiful she is.

He meets all of them over the years, men and women with very different voices and features, but same clever eyes turning to inky black. Each one of them fills his heart with love and hope.

He’s forty seven when they seal the mirror, and until the very end he expects the sentence would change. The cruel joke of a dragon’s mercy, to let him live in a barren mirror prison. He’s well aware that the only reason he isn’t executed is because of his rare and precious arcanum, and an irrational part of him wants to die just to spite them.

But then the seal is placed and he’s left alone. The prison doesn’t feel like prison. It doesn’t feel like anything. The empty nothing stares at him from all sides, the mirror window a singular measure of direction.

He punches the mirror until his hands bleed, his face is wet from crying and his chest aches. The mirror ignores the insult with cosmic indifference. The nothing quivers just a bit and his wounds are gone. The chest still aches however.

He cries and he screams. He casts spells at the mirror, then at himself. Every single of his hurts is tended to, apart from the those which matter.

He tries begging them. He promises that he would never do dark magic again, that he would agree to anything, just to see real world again. Sometimes he even believes it.

Then he just. Lays there. He figures that nothing doesn’t care which way is he oriented. So he just sort of floats there, eyes closed, listening to the perfect emptiness of his prison.

He doesn’t really feel tired, nor hungry, but eventually his mind drifts and he feels that slight pull at his core, the familiar falling.

The man in front of him, he hasn’t seen him in decades. His heart skips a bit at the visage. The man is angry, but this time Aaravos is not afraid. He takes in the vision with painful anticipation. The man screams, pointing at him, but then his eyes drain off the black, and the haunted look in the man’s eyes makes his heart ache. The mirror frame in front of him only shows a segment of the room, but the man’s anger is quick and violent, and a part of him anticipates the strike to the mirror, but it never comes. As the fire rages on the other side, the man stands tall, taking deep breaths. And then, in a swift, astonishingly familiar motion the flame is gone. And then the darkness fades with a soft shimmering glow, letting him see the surprise in the man’s face.

He wakes from the vision with his heart racing and his mouth dry. The flame spell in reverse. It’s far too personal to be a coincidence, and a small spark of hope warms him like a fire in the cold dark night. Perhaps, he has sympathisers. Perhaps, someone was clever enough to mess with the mirror’s wards. He can’t really communicate unless they figure it out, but maybe it would work in reverse too?

The nothingness is persistent, but with a goal in mind he at least has something to do. Eventually with some clever nudging and a slight use of illusion magic he manages to create a simple hearth and bring it to life. And then smother it, while almost glueing his face to the mirror. As he sees the other side he lets go a shaky breath.

It’s limited, it’s barely anything, but hope is more than what the dragons wanted him to have.

He tries to see outside as much as he can, but the dragons’ lair is dark and boring, and gives no indication of the passage of time.

With time, he builds his prison up. First some walls and floors to protect himself from the nothing, then the nicer things, table, chairs, books, so many books. It takes time to try and restore what he remembers, but it’s not like he’s hurting for time.

As he gets better at it, he realizes there isn’t really any reason why he should be confined to one room, and soon he builds up his little mind palace and surrounds it with lush, beautiful garden. But not even the most clever illusion can help him avoid being acutely aware of how alone he is.

His mind palace has a room for all of his friends and lovers, each one of them likely long gone, but the stranger who taught him the secret of the mirror occupies most of his thoughts.

When at his lowest, he summons the illusion doubles to keep himself company. There’s nothing they can show him that he doesn’t already know, but he closes his eyes and tries to imagine the others in their place, stroking his hair, kissing him, touching him with gentleness, talking to him in soft and desperate voice, pushing him with wild intensity-

The fantasy is getting away from him. The promise of something, of anything, left by his visions is making him obsess over every single tiny detail about the man with sad grey eyes.

So when the other side of the mirror is lit up with a flickering light, and a familiar face looks at him with unseeing eyes, he knows, that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to serve him.


End file.
